


everybody loves pretty, everbody loves cool

by blazeofglory



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a supermodel with a famous Twitter and a little bit of a drug habit. Grantaire is a photographer desperate for work, fresh out of rehab. Working together wouldn't be anyone's best idea, and Jehan is firmly against it, and yet-- Enjolras can’t help but be intrigued by Grantaire's dark photos, and Grantaire thinks he may die if he doesn't get to photograph those pretty blue eyes.</p><p>[11/24/15: Okay, after some consideration and some really kind messages, I might return to this after I finish up my current project.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. making plans

**Author's Note:**

> Corresponding tumblr posts: [Enjolras' tweets](http://queerprouvair.tumblr.com/post/107372274312/enjolras-is-a-supermodel-his-best-friends-are/) and [Grantaire's tweets](http://queerprouvair.tumblr.com/post/108221934257/enjolras-is-a-supermodel-his-best-friends-are)

“This is a bad idea,” Jehan pointed out, voice tense. Grantaire ignored them for the moment, still focused on the pretty face on his laptop screen. Rehab had been long and boring, with very limited Internet access and even fewer visits—and absolutely no current magazines. And before rehab, he’d been out of the loop for a very, very long time. Somehow, he’d missed the emergence of _@revolutionaryfashion_ —no, his name was Enjolras, it said so right there on his Twitter profile. Even looking back on how out of it he knew he was in the dark days right before being sent off to rehab, Grantaire still found it hard to believe that he’d missed something so big.

This _Enjolras_ was everything Grantaire was not. He was gorgeous. His cheekbones were a dream, his hair was pure gold, and his smize could put Tyra Banks’ to shame. Grantaire hadn’t taken so much as one photograph in over a year, but now his fingers were itching for a camera, or even a paintbrush, or simply for the chance to touch that perfect face. Jehan cleared their throat, reminding Grantaire that he was not alone to salivate over this stranger on the Internet.

“Jehan, I _have_ to work with this guy,” he repeated, refusing to give up. Jehan just shook their head, their loose braid bouncing with every movement.

“Have you read the same tweets I have? He’s not just a pretty face. His best friend is _Courfeyrac_ , and he literally tweeted about doing drugs. You shouldn’t be around him,” Jehan carried on, gentle but firm. Their hand on Grantaire’s shoulder was warm, grounding him. Grantaire _knew_ Jehan had a point, he was fresh out of rehab, only a few months sober, and this was the last kind of person he should be around, but….

“That _face_ ,” he persisted, almost pleading now. Even though he knew Jehan didn’t control him, he wouldn’t do it if Jehan absolutely put their foot down. He had plenty of bad examples in his past that proved he should never ignore his best friend’s well-intentioned advice. “You’ve met him, haven’t you? I feel like I’ve heard his name before.”

Jehan sighed heavily; it was clear they were hoping that Grantaire wouldn’t remember that. “He’s a friend of Combeferre’s,” they admitted. Grantaire didn’t know Combeferre, but he knew that he and Jehan had been good friends for a long time, and still kept in touch. “Enjolras _and_ Courfeyrac went to college with us, though I only ever met those two in passing. They seemed nice enough—but _no_. You can’t work with him.”

“He’s probably not an addict,” Grantaire pointed out, grasping at straws now. “He tweeted about using, like, _twice._ And he tweets several times a day.”

He hit refresh on his laptop, and sure enough, there was already a new tweet—a selfie with another famous face; this time, a Victoria’s Secret model, and one that Grantaire and Jehan knew well. “Look at that,” he said triumphantly. “If Cosette is hanging out with him, he must be fine.”

“Cosette doesn’t always have great taste in company,” Jehan refuted, but Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Me and Eponine are the closest Cosette has ever come to being in bad company,” he replied, starting to grin. Jehan loved Cosette, as they all did. Grantaire had photographed her a dozen times, and she’d slipped seamlessly into his group of friends, getting on easily with Eponine, Joly, Bossuet, and Jehan. They were quite the group, really. Photographers, models, construction workers, med students… They were certainly diverse.

Jehan was quiet for a second. When they spoke, Grantaire knew he’d basically won. “Maybe we should text Cosette and ask about him.”

***

Enjolras was the best drug user you could possibly imagine. He didn’t share needles, he didn’t take anything he didn’t know the origins of, and he didn’t do anything with people he didn’t trust. He felt a bit hypocritical every time, because drugs had always been something he was firmly against, but it was so ingrained in this culture he was thrust into, it was impossible to avoid. And he wasn’t _addicted_ , he didn’t do enough often enough for that to ever happen. He did the drugs; the drugs didn’t do him. He was safe.

He’d never tell Courfeyrac, but it was the actor that got him started on the drugs in the first place. When Courfeyrac was casually doing them and having the time of his life, it was impossible for Enjolras to resist. Combeferre didn’t approve; after all, he was always the most reasonable of the three of them. But Ferre never stopped them, never suggested it, and never warned them away from that lifestyle. As Enjolras’ agent, Enjolras wondered if it was part of Combeferre’s job to let him do what he wanted.

Sometimes, the paps caught them, and pictures of _FAMOUS FRIENDS COURFEYRAC AND ENJOLRAS SPOTTED SNORTING COCAINE IN DOWNTOWN LA_ hit the internet, though they never made much of a splash. Courfeyrac’s bad boy image was pretty widely known and maintained, partying with fellow actors and actresses every weekend, doing everything from shots to heroin—and at least once a month, pictures of him making out with some famous face hit Twitter. On more than one occasion, that famous face was Enjolras’ own. And, really, through Enjolras’ association with Courfeyrac since the second his face and name had gone into print, he’d had a bad boy reputation too. The press expected this kind of behavior out of them.

The entire fame lifestyle wasn’t something Enjolras really agreed with. The superficiality, the drugs, every little unhealthy behavior, the lack of privacy… Some days, he almost wish that he’d never made it on the cover of a single magazine. But, as an opportunist, he did his best to enjoy it. A large amount of his money went to charities, some of which he helped found himself.

But after a while, the work got old. Wear this, let us rip your hair out, stuff your feet into these shoes, turn your head this way, tilt your shoulders back—and always watch what you eat. After a while, Enjolras told Combeferre only to accept working with people that he already liked, which was a rather short list. Ferre listened, because above all else, he was a good friend. But he only listened to a fault.

“Enjolras, come on, this guy is good. If you would just look at some of his pictures--“

Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair, cut much shorter than he liked from his last photo shoot. The pictures had been brilliant, of course, but now he had to wait for his hair to grow out again. “I don’t want to,” he stated plainly, trying desperately not to look at the disappointed look on Combeferre’s face. “I don’t know him.”

“Cosette vouched for him,” Combeferre continued, undeterred. He stood in the doorway of their kitchen, physically restricting Enjolras from just walking away from this conversation. “Apparently he’s very _nice_ and practically in love with you. He’s a friend of Jehan’s too, and he could really use the work.”

Enjolras sighed. There was always a friend of a friend that wanted to work with them. And yet, he was never one to refuse helping anyone that needed it. “How bad does he need the work?”

Combeferre took a step closer to the counter, sensing a win. “He just got out of rehab, and no one really wants to hire him. The magazine he used to work for wants nothing to do with him.”

“Then what would he even do with the pictures?”

“Sell them?” Combeferre shrugged. “Your face is worth a lot of money, especially since you’ve gotten picky.”

Enjolras knew he’d already agreed to this in his head, but there were a few more things to be sure of before he said yes. “I guess I’ll look at some of his photos,” he conceded. “Do you have any idea what he has in mind with me?”

Combeferre grinned and sat down opposite Enjolras, sliding over a folder.


	2. the meeting

Grantaire couldn’t help but be nervous. It had been so _long_ since he’d had any real work, and even longer since he’d worked in his own studio. It wasn’t the most attractive space for a photo shoot, but Grantaire had very little options. It was a disgustingly rainy day outside and there was no way he could get any of the spaces he’d had access to before. As it was, his studio had to do. It was a large enough room, with white walls and great lighting, despite the gloomy weather.

He had a plan for Enjolras. He wanted to get him a little dirty, a little messy, and really, the weather was _perfect_ for that plan because the clouds would throw his face into such beautiful shadows and angles… Yes, Grantaire could see it now…

Oh, but he was nervous; nervous enough to wish there was something strong coursing through his veins, something to give him a buzz, a high, any calming effect at all. It was daunting enough that he was out of practice, but to start with _Enjolras_ of all people was probably not one of his better plans. They hadn’t even met yet and Grantaire was already intimidated by his beauty. Would Enjolras be kind and passionate in person? Or would he be rude and pretentious? Would he treat Grantaire like a peer or as a minion? All Grantaire had to go on was Jehan’s vague recollections of one brief meeting back in university, and what Cosette had said in her texts.

 _Enjolras is lovely,_ she’d said. _We met through Courfeyrac’s boyfriend, and he’s great._ Jehan had gotten sidetracked then and took a break from the Enjolras questions to inquire about Courfeyrac having a boyfriend (a stunt man by the name of Marius that neither of them had ever heard of, as it turns out). But when they got back on track, Cosette said that Enjolras was _passionate and talented_ , and in regards to drugs, she said she’d never seen him use—and considering they’d been good friends for almost a year, that said a lot. Enjolras must not be an addict.

Rereading Cosette’s texts hadn’t helped soothe his nerves, so he opened up the Twitter app. He hadn’t gone _specifically_ to look at _@revolutionaryfashion_ , but sure enough, Enjolras was at the top of his feed, having tweeted just seconds ago. _Photoshoot time!! time to get my modeling on,_ it read. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile a little, because, really? Who talked like that? But it was almost endearing in its cuteness, and his nerves only grew at the thought. If Enjolras was so sweet in person, Grantaire was undoubtedly going to embarrass himself.

There was a quiet noise at the door, making Grantaire freeze. His phone vibrated in his hand just then, and he tore his eyes away from the door to check it—it was a text from Jehan, bless their heart. _Good luck xoxo_. It did nothing to quell his nerves.

The door opened, and an angel stepped inside. All the air rushed out of Grantaire’s lungs. Somehow, he was even more beautiful in person.

***

Enjolras had feasted his eyes on as much of Grantaire’s work as he possibly could. The few photographs Combeferre had shown him were dark, cynical, and _riveting._ Grantaire had turned his models into works of art, telling a story on a page, playing a character and not just showcasing a mannequin for the clothes—and _oh_ , this man knew lighting, because the clothes looked just as beautiful as the faces.Enjolras had immediately gone in search of more, and found a veritable treasure trove on Google images. Many of them even featured Cosette, her sweet face stony and not smiling for once, looking terrifying and ethereal in every shot. It was a wonder Grantaire wasn’t more famous, honestly—except, well, he did notice the dates. Grantaire hadn’t done anything at all in the last year and a half, and nothing of serious note for at least _three_ years.

Since Combeferre had made it clear that Enjolras hadn’t signed up for a professional shoot, he really had no idea what to expect. He hoped what he was wearing was alright, because what if Grantaire didn’t have clothes set aside for this? Skinny jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a raincoat weren’t much to look at, and as he walked down town to the address Combeferre had given him, he found himself wishing he’d put on something nicer. He hadn’t even done anything with his hair, either, and it was still so _short._ He ran his fingers through the short strands, damp from the sprinkling rain, and before he knew it, he’d reached the address.

Enjolras let himself up and glanced at his phone—he was exactly on time. He opened the door slowly, and the first thing he noticed was the gray light streaming in through the large windows, the white walls lit up in shades of gray. And there, in the middle of the room, was Grantaire.

Now, Enjolras had always had a type, and that type was tall, tan, and muscular. Courfeyrac was his type. Jason Momoa was his type. Skinny hipsters that looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks were _not_ his type. And yet. There was something almost charming about Grantaire’s layers of shirts and sweaters, the gray beanie holding back a head of unruly black curls, the smudges of eyeliner, and his day-old scruff. He looked a little sickly, to be honest, but he was oddly handsome—and his pallor probably had something to with the rain or the rehab or an oncoming cold.

Enjolras blushed a little, realizing that he had been staring just a minute too long. “Hey,” he finally said, a little awkwardly. “You must be Grantaire?”

“Yes.” The photographer smiled, nervous looking but genuine enough, and Enjolras really was charmed now. “And you must be my new muse.”


	3. the photo shoot

When actually faced with Enjolras in all his glory, Grantaire found it a little hard to focus on his original plan. This beautiful face deserved a background of red velvet, a designer suit, a gilded halo… But no, that was not for today. Maybe, someday, if Grantaire ever regained the same access he’d once had, he could get the perfect photos he was imagining, but he did have to stick to his plan for the day. He had to work with what he had.

“So, I want to work with the natural lighting we’ve got in here,” Grantaire announced, clapping his hands together to get himself to focus. He glanced around the room quickly, then gestured to the darkest wall. “Can you stand over there?”

“I can do whatever you ask,” Enjolras answered with a cheeky grin, moving over to the wall. Grantaire almost felt as if those pretty blue eyes were undressing him mentally—wishful thinking, probably. He smiled back.

Grantaire nodded to himself, walking around Enjolras in contemplation. How exactly did he want to do this? “Your hair is perfect for this,” he said as he mused. Enjolras looked completely natural, no makeup, no hair product, and casual clothing; just what Grantaire needed.

Enjolras ran a hand through his messy, wet hair, looking self-conscious about it. With a bit of a sigh, he said, “It used to be longer.”

“Mm,” was Grantaire’s only reply. He’d seen the pictures of Enjolras with long hair, and it was _beautiful_ hair, but it looked just as good like this. He stepped back, satisfied with the mental image forming in his mind. “Can you take off your shirt?”

Grantaire fiddled with his camera as Enjolras took his shirt off, and to his surprise, the blonde was _blushing_ when he looked up. And wasn’t that something? A professional model _blushing._ Grantaire managed to snap a quick picture of it, prompting the model to frown at him. Enjolras certainly must know he was attractive, didn’t he? God, his abs looked like they were sculpted from marble… Grantaire’s desire to paint the man only increased.

“Now stand at angle, yeah? Yes, that’s perfect.” Grantaire guided Enjolras into the perfect position with his words, and the rest of the shoot went smoothly. They barely talked, outside of Grantaire’s directions and Enjolras’ polite nods and occasional “is this okay?” Sometimes, Enjolras shot him that smoldering look, possibly without really realizing he was doing it, and Grantaire’s shutter went off rapidly. He wanted to catch every minute look that passed Enjolras’ face; more than anything, he wanted that raw beauty to translate into the photograph.

A long time passed, though Grantaire never glanced at his phone for the time even once. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep taking pictures of Enjolras forever; he knew it had already gone on much too long, so, reluctantly, he put the camera down. Enjolras dropped the pose, a smile falling into place that Grantaire immediately mirrored.

“We’re done?”

“For today, yes.” Grantaire picked up Enjolras’ shirt off the ground and passed it over. “I hope this isn’t the only time we get to do this.”

***

After a brief discussion of what Grantaire would do with the photos, and Grantaire promising to call Combeferre when they were ready to be looked at, Enjolras was still reluctant to leave. He hadn’t had such a relaxed photo shoot in who knows how long. He didn’t want it to end. And, he wasn’t going to lie to himself, he rather liked Grantaire’s company. He was charming in an honest sort of way, which Enjolras didn’t see much of anymore. They’d hardly talked at all and Enjolras felt this way; what would it be like if they got to have a proper conversation?

“I should probably be going,” Enjolras found himself saying, a rueful smile on his lips. Grantaire frowned, looking as if he didn’t want Enjolras to leave either. The brunette nodded anyway, though.

“I’m sure you’ve got a busy schedule,” Grantaire replied, looking down at the camera in his hands and not at Enjolras. Enjolras took one step away, then hesitated.

He knew what he wanted to do, but… God, this was a bad idea. Enjolras was notoriously _awful_ at relationships, just ask anyone. Ask Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who had been around for every dramatic beginning and end of every relationship he’d ever had. Fuck, ask Montparnasse, the lead singer of a punk band he’d had an ill-advised tryst with over the summer. Ask Feuilly, a dear friend that he never should’ve dated in the first place. Ask Brad from college, ask James the Abercrombie model. Enjolras sighed internally—now was not the time to doubt himself. A long time ago, he’d made a pact with himself to do whatever it took to be happy, and he had a feeling Grantaire might help do that.

“Do you want to get coffee sometime?” Enjolras asked abruptly, holding his raincoat in his clenched fists. Grantaire looked surprised.

“Coffee?” he echoed, beginning to smile. “As a date?”

“If you want,” Enjolras replied, grip loosening and an easy smile forming. “Or, you know, it could be just as friends. We could be friends, if you’d rather.”

Enjolras knew his words came out awkward, and he felt himself blush again, but Grantaire’s smile didn’t dim for a second. “A date it is.”

“Okay,” Enjolras agreed, smiling like an idiot and finally tugging on his coat. “You’ve got my number. Text me.”

Grantaire nodded, a matching grin on his face and a look in his eyes that somehow made Enjolras positive that he really would text. If he was inclined to more romantic ideas, he’d admit that his heart seemed to skip a beat as he walked out, feeling Grantaire’s warm eyes on his back. It was probably still a bad idea, but Enjolras resolved to worry about that later.


	4. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are probably going to be less frequent now, sorry! But college has started back up, and that obviously demands most of my free time.

Grantaire was staring at his laptop intently, getting absolutely zero work done, as Jehan ranted behind him, their voice rising with agitation. On his screen were the pictures of Enjolras, and, well, each and every single one was beautiful. He had Photoshop open, but he didn’t want to change a single thing. Enjolras looked perfect just the way he was, those intent blue eyes staring at him through the screen; he could almost feel the model’s presence in the room with him. Jehan, finally fed up, slammed Grantaire’s laptop shut. The photographer finally looked up.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Jehan demanded, hands on their hips. Grantaire sighed.

“ _Yes_ , but you’re wrong,” he said with a huff. Jehan hadn’t stopped saying how much hanging out with Enjolras was a bad idea since Grantaire had admitted that they had a date—over an hour ago. Joly and Bossuet had gotten bored of it twenty minutes ago and went to watch TV in the living room, but Grantaire had continued to stubbornly ignore his best friend. “He was fine the whole time. I like him.”

“Nice or not, we know he’s into drugs,” Jehan said for the millionth time. “It’s just—it’s not a good idea, R. You’re doing so well, do you really want to be around temptation?”

Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling an oncoming headache. He knew Jehan was right; of course he knew. But it had been so long since he’d been interested in anybody, and Enjolras was so… Captivating. Grantaire couldn’t remember the last time he’d been captivated by anything but a needle.

“Look, it’s not like he’s gonna offer me crack in the middle of a coffee shop.”

“Really? Because you’ve _never_ done drugs in a coffee shop?” Jehan countered, voice cold and angry. But the second the words left their lips, they obviously regretted them. “I—I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

Grantaire was silent for a moment. “No, you’re right,” he finally replied quietly. He could remember it. It wasn’t exactly long ago, was it? No, every shameful memory was still fresh in his mind, of every time he’d been so desperate to get his fix, he hadn’t cared where he was. He’d done drugs in a coffee shop, of course he had. He’d done drugs everywhere he went.

Jehan apologized quietly, reaching over to put their hand on Grantaire’s. The brunette held tight, needing the anchor. Grantaire didn’t want to be that guy again. He’d give anything to stay clean.

Maybe he should cancel the date.

“It might not be that bad,” came Joly’s voice from the doorway, making both Jehan and Grantaire jump. “Didn’t you say Cosette says he barely uses? I think dating would be good for you. New people, new things, you know? Not the same old shit.”

Jehan sent Joly a glare. “I think he needs a safe environment.”

Grantaire just sighed again, slumping down on the table and hiding his face in his arms.

***

Sundays were their relaxation day. Courfeyrac would come over to Enjolras and Combeferre’s place, and they would all watch movies and eat shitty food all day. It was a tradition they’d kept up since college, and one that they were not keen to ever end.

 _Say Yes to the Dress_ was playing on the TV, and they were all sitting around drinking wine. Even Feuilly was going to come over later, and Enjolras found himself in a better mood than he’d been in in ages.

“You can’t stop smiling,” Courfeyrac teased, nudging Enjolras with his foot. They were all three squished onto the couch with their glasses of wine, Enjolras in the middle of his two best friends. He just kept grinning.

“It’s a good day.”

Combeferre snorted, a mischievous grin on his face. “Oh, please. You’re smiling about yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Courfeyrac asked, a matching grin on his face. “Your photo shoot went that well?”

Enjolras shrugged, trying to play it off. He said simply, “I liked the photographer.”

“ _Really_ liked the photographer,” Combeferre supplied. “Enough to give him his number.”

Courfeyrac laughed in delight, nudging Enjolras harder now. “You’ve finally found yourself a boyfriend! I’m so proud!”

“Montparnasse wasn’t even that long ago,” Enjolras pointed out, in too good of a mood to get properly annoyed. “But he’s not my boyfriend anyway. We’re getting coffee, that’s all.”

“Is he hot?” Courfeyrac asked immediately.

Enjolras blushed, shrugging. “Yeah, but not in the way I usually like. He’s definitely not my type.”

“ _I’m_ your type,” Courfeyrac replied as he sat his glass of wine down on the coffee table. Enjolras barely had time to snort at his cockiness before Courfeyrac was kissing him soundly.

Combeferre coughed loudly after a long minute, and they broke apart, giggling. Ferre rolled his eyes, but Courfeyrac refused to look even a little embarrassed. Enjolras wondered for a second what his boyfriend thought of all this. Courfeyrac and Marius must have some sort of open relationship agreement, he figured. His best friend would never cheat.

“Anyways,” Combeferre prompted.

“He’s interesting,” Enjolras conceded. That might even be an understatement, to be honest, but it was true none the less. Grantaire was something else. “I think we’ll have a good time.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared a grin over his head, communicating silently. The two of them were ridiculously invested in his love life. Enjolras got up to get them all more wine, but he paused in the middle of the hall when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was a message from Grantaire, and Enjolras was smiling before he even opened it.

When he did open it, his smile dropped.

_I can’t do coffee. Sorry._


	5. questionable decisions

A few days passed, and Grantaire did nothing with the photographs. He knew he could sell them to some magazine or website, or _whatever_ , but he was feeling a bit… well, bitter. Enjolras was a beautiful disaster waiting to happen, and he knew that, he really did, but he ached for a change. No one would properly hire him, but it wasn’t like he was even trying. He moped around the apartment; his only social interactions were with the ever-sympathetic but firm Jehan.

It was a Wednesday when he remembered.

He’d been lying in bed, face down, trying to muster the courage to get up when all he wanted to do was _sleep_. He brushed the side of his mattress, where the fitted sheet was riding up, and his fingers grazed a tear. He froze.

Before rehab, he’d hidden drugs everywhere, but Jehan had gotten rid of every little stash by the time Grantaire had moved back in. Grantaire knew that, and it was the first thought that jumped to his mind: that Jehan was taking care of him, and there was nothing inside his mattress.

As if on their own volition, his hand kept moving, and fuck, he was breathing fast and he felt sick, and he knew that if he found anything, he was going to use. He was going to throw away everything he had been working toward because he was _weak._ He needed, fuck, he needed—

His fingers closed around nothing.

After a while, his breathing slowed. He drew his arm back and rolled over, wide eyes staring up at the dark marks on his ceiling. He reached over to his side table, grabbing his phone in hands he hadn’t even realized were shaking. He meant to call Jehan, he had _every_ intention to call Jehan, but there was an unopened text message from Enjolras.

Without thinking it through, he hit the call button.

Enjolras picked up after two rings, sounding breathless. “Grantaire! Hello.”                   

“Hey,” Grantaire responded, trying to school his voice into something normal and _neutral._ “I, uh, I wanted to say sorry for backing out of coffee.”

“Oh.” Enjolras was quiet for a beat. “Well, it’s fine, really. I’m not offended.”

Grantaire smiled. Did Enjolras even know how charming he was? “Good, because I really want to work with you again.”

“I’m all for it.” There was a smile in Enjolras’ voice, Grantaire could tell; his heart clenched a little. God, this was such a bad idea. “Oh, can you hold on a sec?”

“Sure.”

Grantaire could distantly hear Enjolras talking to someone, a vaguely familiar sounding voice, but masked by the rustle of fabric (was Enjolras holding the phone against his shoulder?), so he couldn’t tell what they were saying. The talking stopped after a moment.

“Sorry about that,” Enjolras began, sounding a bit hesitant. “That was Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire snorted, eyebrows raised at his ceiling. For a second, he’d forgotten that Enjolras was famous, and his best friend was literally the most popular actor around. “Of course it was.”

Enjolras huffed a quiet chuckle, which was really more attractive than it had any right to be. “He was inviting me out tonight. Is there—well. Do you want to come?”

Grantaire fell quiet.

Oh no. This was exactly what Jehan did not want him to do. It was exactly what he _shouldn’t_ do.

“Where to?” he asked, voice cautious even as he silently cursed at himself. _What the fuck was he doing?_

“Just a party in town, nothing big.” Enjolras sounded hopeful; the nail in the coffin.

He shouldn’t do this. This was a _bad_ idea. There would be Enjolras and Courfeyrac and probably other celebrities, and alcohol and _drugs,_ and oh, it was a bad idea. He should call Jehan. He knew he should. Jehan would talk some sense into him.

Instead, he nodded, though he knew Enjolras couldn’t see him. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go.”

Once they hung up, Grantaire let out a long breath. _Fuck._

***

They met up at the club. Grantaire greeted Enjolras with a nervous looking smile, but _damn_ he looked good in those tight jeans and a dark shirt. Enjolras grinned, which seemed to soothe Grantaire’s nerves a little. Enjolras was really happy that the photographer had wanted to go; he’d been so disappointed after he’d canceled on coffee, no matter how much Courfeyrac had tried to cheer him up.

Remembering his manners, Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac, beckoning him closer, then turned back to Grantaire. “This is Courfeyrac,” he introduced, watching for some sort of awed expression on Grantaire’s face that so many others got when meeting a proper celebrity, but Grantaire only offered up a polite smile. “Courf, this is Grantaire.”

Polite introductions were exchanged, and they seemed to get along well enough, so they went inside the club, where the music was pounding and the lights were low. After a while at the bar, Courfeyrac wandered off, possibly looking for Marius.

Enjolras turned to Grantaire with a grin, not disguising the intent in his eyes. “Do you want to dance?”

Grantaire met his eyes for a second, then glanced over at the sea of writhing, grinding bodies. A matching grin grew on his face. “I’d love to.”

The next hour or two went by in a blur. Their bodies pressed close together, Grantaire behind him, his chest warm against Enjolras’ back, his breath on the back of his neck, his hips pressed firmly against Enjolras’ ass as they moved. After a while, Enjolras turned in his arms and they danced like that, face to face, hips together, and _fuck_ , they were both hard. He wanted to kiss Grantaire, he wanted to drag him away, take him home and cover his neck in hickies…

Courfeyrac showed back up, sweaty and stumbling, and a few people around them stared. Enjolras just laughed and leaned in, away from Grantaire. “Did you ever find Marius?” he yelled over the music.

“No, but I found something else!” Courfeyrac responded with a grin, and when Enjolras glanced down at his hand, there was a little baggie closed in his fist. Enjolras snorted and nodded, his silent promise to follow him.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised Grantaire, whose hands were still on Enjolras’ hips. He nodded, his eyes darting down to Enjolras’ lips, then back up.

Enjolras parted from him reluctantly, then followed Courf through the crowd, into the bathrooms at the back of the club.

He didn't remember much of the rest of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how proud I am of this chapter, particularly Enjolras' part, so some revisions may be coming, but it's been so long since I updated, I had to post something!!


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